


The Kings and the Marriage Proposals

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [8]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Humor, Apologies to Jane Austen, Erebor, Father/son relationships, M/M, Mirkwood, Rings and Things, Romance, Should've read up on things first, multiple proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the previous story, The Kings and the Contract, Dain has suggested that Thorin ask for Thranduil's hand and so he dashes off to Mirkwood to propose.  Umm, he should've read Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice or Mrs Gaskell's North and South first, LOL!  There are ways and ways.</p><p>First story in this series: King of the Antlered Throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suggestion

Thorin proposes to Thranduil, then Dain and his son do a bit of proposing too.  Jane Austen would have been a good mentor, LOL!

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Marriage Proposals

 

Chp I

 

Suggestion

 

Thorin woke up, sprawled on a table in his apartments and with a thumping head.  He had been drinking half the night with Dain and, since the king was no longer there, he could only imagine that he had called a servant to help him to his rooms.

 

Dain had made such an excellent suggestion last night that Thorin had intended to leap on his horse this morning and ride with all speed to Mirkwood.  But, he currently felt so ill that he knew that this wasn’t a good idea.  Instead, it might be better to shake off this headache first and then go and consult with Balin before he did something rash and stupid.

 

The old counsellor looked up with pleasure as Thorin entered the room.  Then he raised an eyebrow.  “And who were you drinking with last night?” he asked, noting his red-rimmed eyes and sickly pallor.

 

“Dain,” rasped Thorin.  “We were celebrating an idea of his.”

 

“It must have been a good idea for you to be willing to share an evening with that old curmudgeon,” smiled Balin.

 

“And I’ve come to talk about it with you, Balin,” grunted the king, sitting down and clasping his head in his hands.  “What a hangover!  I thought I was past such foolishness.”

 

Balin made him a herbal infusion which Thorin sipped whilst he recounted the conversation of the previous night.  “He feels my relationship with Thranduil is rather – perverse – and that it is bringing shame upon his son, my behaviour being a reflection upon my heir.”  Balin gave a dismissive snort but Thorin pressed on.  “Of course, he doesn’t want me to give up Thranduil because then I might marry and produce an heir of my own blood.  His solution is that we should regularise our relationship by going through a form of marriage ceremony which would make things respectable and would ensure that I didn’t marry elsewhere and break my contract with his son.”  Thorin raised his bloodshot eyes to Balin’s face.  “I suddenly realised that this is something I would like to do.  So, you must tell me if this thing is possible.”

 

Balin pursed his lips and answered thoughtfully.  “I don’t see any reason why the two of you couldn’t sign a document that committed you one to the other.  And, in this sense, it would be like a marriage.”  Thorin smiled in relief but Balin raised a hand.  “However,” he continued, “it isn’t just to do with the legality of such a piece of paper: it is more to do with reactions to such a contract both here and in Mirkwood.”

 

And, for the next two hours, they argued back and forth about the pros and cons of the two kings promising themselves to each other in this way.  The old and wise dwarf was unhappy with the idea for various reasons but, in the end, Thorin rose from his seat.  “You cannot dissuade me, Balin,” he said, bad-temperedly, “for all your arguments.  I shall visit Thranduil later today and ask him to marry me.”  And he strode from the room, leaving Balin behind to ponder on the obduracy of kings.

 

.o00o.

 

When he felt a bit better, Thorin descended to the Treasury.  The great hoard looked nothing like it had done when Thorin and his companions had returned to Erebor to reclaim their own, strewn as it had been in great mountains of gold, nor even, in fact, like the time when Thror had been King under the Mountain.  A huge effort had been made to tidy and sort the great pile of treasure and Thorin soon found what he wanted.

 

He remembered the day when an excited servant had brought the ring to him.  He had held it out with trembling hands for his king’s examination and Thorin’s eyes had widened.  It was the most exquisite thing, wrought in mithril, delicately incised and studded with a large white stone that glittered like a star.  Thorin would have slipped it onto one of his own fingers if they had been more slender but the ring was designed for a slim and elegant hand.  “Fit for a queen!” the servant had exclaimed.

 

Fit for Thranduil, he now thought.  And he placed it safely in a beautiful silver box and returned to his apartments.

 

He sent a note to Dain to explain where he was going, thanking him for the suggestion of the previous night, and then he set out for Mirkwood.

 

It was a long ride and, all the way there, he couldn’t help but turn Balin’s words over and over again in his head.  And, with that difficult conversation in mind, he tried to shape the words of his proposal to Thranduil.   It wouldn’t be simple.  It wasn’t just a case of saying, “Will you marry me?”  The elven king would be just as startled as he had been when Dain had made the suggestion the previous night.  His proposal needed justifying because he didn’t want Thranduil to laugh and turn him down.  There had to be honesty between them but, in the end, he was confident that his lover would say ‘yes’.  And he hugged the thought of Thranduil becoming his betrothed tightly to his breast.

 

By the time he got to Mirkwood, he was as taut as a bowstring and he set off for the king’s chambers feeling as anxious as a young lad about to embark on his first romantic engagement.

 

.o00o.

 

Meanwhile, back in Erebor, it was lunch time and Young Thorin looked around the great dining hall for the king.

 

“He’s not here,” grunted Dain to his son, mopping up the gravy on his plate with a large hunk of bread.  “He’s gone to Mirkwood.”

 

The prince was furious.  This was supposed to be the week that the king spent with his heir; the week which the elf and the dwarf spent apart from each other; the week when he and Thorin got to know each other better and he was taught how to be a proper ruler.  Dain saw the look of fury on his son’s face and snarled: “Sit down, boy, and stop looking like a rejected young girl.  This is all about your future and it’s your father who has set about securing it for you.”

 

The prince sat down, still glowering.

 

“He has gone to Mirkwood to ask Thranduil to marry him,” said Dain gruffly, between deep draughts of wine.  And his son looked at him in amazement.  “It was my idea,” continued the lord of the Iron Hills.  “By marrying Thranduil, he not only makes their union more respectable but it ensures your position as heir to the throne.  It means he won’t have a change of heart or be tempted to marry someone like Brangwyn and produce brats of his own.”

 

The prince blinked: it was a clever plan, he would give his father that.  And it would work in his favour as far as Brangwyn was concerned.  The field was now open and he was warming to the idea of asking the lovely young dwarf woman to be his future queen, knowing that there would no longer be any chance of him being cruelly rejected in favour of his adopted father.  Yes, it was a brilliant scheme and he sent Dain an appreciative smile.  “Thank you, father,” he said.

 

“I should think so, too,” snorted Dain.  “Don’t know what you’d do without me, boy.”

 

But Dain was thinking along the same lines.  Without competition from Thorin, he would approach Brangwyn in the next day or so.  She had really taken his fancy and once they were betrothed, he could take her to his bed.  And he was beginning to feel really impatient for that moment.

 

.o00o.

 

Young Thorin paced his chambers, thinking about Brangwyn.  They hadn’t got off to a particularly good start.  He had lusted after her and had treated her like the whore he thought she was.  But, having got past that moment, he had started to enjoy her company and felt quite restless when she wasn’t around.  The fact that he could be jealous even when it was only his father who paid her courteous attention, proved to him how much he wanted her.  She would make a wise and beautiful queen and he was sure that Thorin would approve.

 

He would wait for Thorin’s return, discuss the matter with him and then ask Brangwyn for her hand.

 

He sat down and had a drink.

 

And then he got up and paced the chamber some more.

 

In the end, he decided that he would visit Brangwyn that very moment because he just couldn’t wait for Thorin’s return.  And so, he dressed carefully and went off to seek her in her rooms.

 

“Brangwyn, can I speak with you?” he sked politely when she opened the door.  The dwarf woman smiled, pleased to see him.  She enjoyed talking with him, she enjoyed teasing him and she enjoyed gazing upon his handsome face and form.

 

She invited him to sit and then went off to provide some refreshments whilst the prince stared around the room.  In many ways, it was similar to all the other guest apartments in Erebor: lots of marble, very elegant and very fine.  But Brangwyn had somehow done things to her rooms that made them especially pleasant to be in.  It must be that woman’s touch: perhaps it was the vases of lovely flowers; perhaps it was the lengths of gauze which softened the great windows; perhaps it was the pretty embroidered cushions scattered everywhere, doubtless stitched by her own hand.  Whatever.  He just liked being there because it felt so welcoming and comfortable.  And he looked ahead to the time when she would make their shared home equally beautiful.

 

And the room was a reflection of Brangwyn herself: beautiful and welcoming.  He longed to be clasped in her arms, against that generous bosom, and he thought about that mother whom he could scarcely remember and who had been the only one to give him any love in the coldness and the harshness of the Iron Hills.

 

So, was that what he wanted from Brangwyn?  Some form of maternal love?  And he grinned inwardly.  Definitely not.  He wanted love, yes; but not the maternal kind.  He wanted the sort that involved naked bodies and tongues and heat and searching hands.  And would she say ‘yes’?  Of course she would.  He was young and handsome and the heir to the richest and greatest dwarf kingdom that had ever existed on Middle-earth.  She had come to Erebor looking for a king to marry but had discovered that Thorin was committed to someone else.  That must have been a disappointment.  Now he was offering her a second chance.

 

Brangwyn returned with a bottle of wine and the prince stood and poured them both a glass.  Still standing, he asked her if she had noticed Thorin’s absence that day.  Her eyes twinkled: “Yes, I have,” she grinned.  “And are you now going to tell me a choice piece of gossip?”

 

He couldn’t help but grin back. “It’s not just gossip but the truth of the matter: Thorin has gone to Mirkwood to ask Thranduil to marry him – or at least undertake a form of marriage which will tie them both together.”

 

Brangwyn gasped and then clapped her hands in glee.  “How marvellous for them both!” she exclaimed.  And her joy put to flight any lingering doubts that he might have that she was pining after the dwarf king.

 

He drew himself up to his full stature and looked down at her:  “And, speaking of marriage….” he said.

 

.o00o.

 

In Mirkwood, Thranduil stood on his balcony and gazed over the tops of the endless trees.  It was quite disturbing, he thought, how much his body ached for Thorin when the dwarf wasn’t there.  He had been pleased to give Legolas so much attention this past week and he knew his son was enjoying being with him.  But, the prince would not have been so pleased if he had known how often his father’s thoughts had been elsewhere, fixed on images of Thorin’s hair, Thorin’s eyes, Thorin’s lips, Thorin’s voice, Thorin’s…… 

 

It was just at this moment that his door swung open and he turned to see Thorin standing there, looking dishevelled and travel-stained but totally desirable.  With a glad cry, Thranduil strode across the room to clasp him in his arms.  The kiss he gave him was endlessly deep but, at last he broke away and said in puzzled tones: “I thought I wouldn’t see you for another week.”

 

“I have come on a special errand,” said the dwarf, with a strained expression.  And he stripped off his cloak, helped himself to a glass of wine from a nearby decanter, then cleared his throat.

 

He gestured Thranduil to a chair and then stood back, gazing intently at the elven king.  He looks for all the world as if he’s about to make an important speech, thought Thranduil, eyeing him curiously.  But when Thorin started to pace about the room, the elf experienced some concern.

 

The dwarf finally swung on his heel and, facing him at last, began: “I have struggled for a long time not to love you,” he said.  “But it is no use.  Even though such a love goes against all social expectations and constraints, even though it is a love considered repugnant by so many, including myself, my struggles have been in vain.”

 

Shall I punch him now, thought Thranduil?  Or shall I hear him out?

 

.o00o.

 

**Next chapter: Dain muddies the waters still further by making his own marriage proposal to Brangwyn.  Three proposals in total.  But will Thranduil accept Thorin?  And whose proposal will Brangwyn accept?  Or will she accept neither?**


	2. A Whole Raft of Proposals!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin, Young Thorin and Dain all make their proposals but they don't exactly have a feel for such a moment. Clumsy, badly expressed and totally unaware of what effect they are having on their recipients, which of them, if any, will win the day?!

Chp II

 

A Whole Raft of Proposals!

 

“And speaking of marriage….” said Young Thorin.  Brangwyn looked up at him and wondered what he was about to say, thinking that he was looking more pompously arrogant than usual.  For a fleeting moment, she imagined his childhood in the Iron Hills with his rough, unaffectionate father.  Is that what had made him feel that he needed to flaunt his position as the heir of Durin?  Those feelings of helplessness and inadequacy seeping through from his former life?  And, as usual, she wanted to give him a hug.

 

“As you must know,” the prince continued after a slight pause, “as the heir of Durin,” and Brangwyn smiled inwardly, “I am the most important person in all the dwarven kingdoms after Thorin.”  He looked at her to see what response his words had elicited but she just politely nodded.  “Whoever I marry will one day be queen of the wealthiest, if not the greatest, kingdom in the whole of Middle-earth.”  He glanced down at her again, but she still sat there with the faintest smile playing on her lips.  Young Thorin upped his game.

 

“I come from a great and glorious line.  In contrast, your father is a mere blacksmith.  And yet….”

 

“Thorin was a blacksmith for years in Ered Luin,” she interrupted quietly.

 

“And yet,” he continued, “your lineage does not deter me from offering myself in marriage.”

 

Brangwyn was stunned.  That was the last thing she had expected him to say.  One half of her heart was doing little leaps of joy.  Was not this what she had desired secretly, in the quiet watches of the night: to be married to the heir of Durin?  This beautiful youth whom she could mould and shape into a fine husband and an excellent king.  Yes!  She had always known she could do it, and now here was her chance.  Perhaps he wanted to marry her for the wrong reason – that overwhelming desire to take her to his bed – but she knew, she just knew that this was a mere starting point and that she could take his feelings for her and make them into something more.

 

But, the other half of her heart felt cold and angry.  How dare he speak so arrogantly of his power and his wealth as if they were the only things that would tempt her!  How dare he make odious comparisons between her lineage and his own, when she knew her father was one of the finest dwarves she had ever known, someone who was worth ten of Dain! 

 

And not one word of love or even affection.

 

She nodded her head graciously and tried to keep calm.  “I thank you for this offer,” she said coolly, “as any woman would who had just been offered a crown.  I shall consider it this evening and give you my answer tomorrow.”  Then she stood and gestured with her hand as if an audience with her had come to an end.

 

Young Thorin gave her a disbelieving gape but her aloof manner was such that he could only make her a curt bow and back from the room.

 

.o00o.

 

Half an hour later and Brangwyn was still wondering what her answer should be.  Did the prince just want her for his plaything and was marriage the only route to his desires?  Could she live within such a marriage?  And she remembered how she had first come to Erebor, willing to tie herself into a loveless marriage with Thorin.  But, her perceptions had changed.  She had seen the love that existed between Thorin and Thranduil and now she wanted some of that for herself.  The prince made her heart turn little somersaults when she saw him and she couldn’t bear to marry him if there was no love but only sexual desire in return.

 

And then there came another knock at her door.

 

Dain had been brooding about her all day and had finally decided that he would not wait any longer either.  And he strode into Brangwyn’s apartment with all the confidence of one who was used to getting his own way.  He kissed her hand and then led her to a chair and bowed her into it.

 

The dwarf woman wondered what he wanted - and then her heart sank.  No!  Surely he hadn’t come to propose as well?  Thorin’s visit to Thranduil had definitely triggered something here.  And it was something she neither sought nor desired.

 

Dain stood in what he assumed was a majestic posture, one hand tucked behind his back, the other stroking his great beard.

 

“Dearest Brangwyn,” he began, as if reading out a speech he had memorised to her, “be not afraid of the greatness that is about to fall at your unsuspecting feet.  My wife of many years, who sadly died when my son was little more than a baby, was ever aware of the honour that I had bestowed upon her when I asked for her hand; for, with such a contract, comes privilege, position and great esteem.”  Brangwyn sat not uttering a word.  Did neither of them think to speak about love?

 

Dain, confident that she was suitably stunned into silence by what he was implying, pressed on.  “Neither be afraid that I am too old to perform the duties of a husband, for you will find that I am as virile as in my younger days and I expect to father many more children.”  This was, in fact, the duty that he was most looking forward to and the one that filled Brangwyn with the most distaste.

 

“And so, I offer you my hand and my kingdom,” he said, bowing low before her, “and I give you this ring as a sign of our betrothal.”  At this, he thrust under her nose an open box in which sat a very large and rather ugly gold ring.  Well, at least I’m getting a ring from this one, Brangwyn thought in dazed amusement.

 

“You accept, of course,” said Dain sharply when she made no move to take the ring but continued to sit there as if turned to stone.  The ring was important.  Once she accepted this, she was also accepting him in her bed.

 

“You do me great honour,” she said slowly; and Dain smiled smugly.  “But, one of my tender years must have time to think or else be considered unmaidenly.”  The king felt a measure of frustration because he had bathed this morning in readiness for the pleasures of her flesh that night.  But he nodded in agreement at her seemly answer.  This one knew how to behave and would make him an appropriate queen.

 

“I shall have your answer tomorrow then?” he asked.  And she nodded in relief that he had accepted her response without any fuss.

 

.o00o.

 

Back in Mirkwood, Thranduil sat expressionless as Thorin declared himself.

 

“What I am about to propose to you, I have, of course, already discussed with Balin.”

 

_How dare he pore over our private concerns with his counsellor!_

“And we understand that the dignity of dwarves may be compromised if we set my plan into action.”

 

_And what of the dignity of elves?  And, for goodness’ sake, what are you talking about Thorin?_

“Sometimes all personal desires must be set aside if they offend too deeply a proud race.”

 

_What, Thorin, what?_

_“_ And yet, although the dwarves have despised the elves for many years, I have thought about it, struggled to do the right thing and have decided that I cannot let you go, even though Balin counsels against this scheme.  In spite of all my fears, I cannot resist any longer and must declare my love officially for you…….”

 

_Officially?!  Did that mean he was going to trumpet the details of their private life through the streets?_

 

“…..and, with it, an offer of marriage.”  There, thought Thorin with relief, it was out.  And he knelt before the elven king and produced the silver box, opening it with a flourish.  “I lay before you the wealth of Erebor,” he said.  “Though you have little, I would give you much.  Here is a token of my love which I would set upon your finger.”

 

An icy silence descended.  And Thorin, who had been gazing humbly at the floor, waiting to be clasped joyfully in Thranduil’s arms, finally looked up and saw the grim set of his lover’s features.  What had he said?

 

“So,” said Thranduil softly, “you expect me to be flattered that you have loved me all this time against your will; that you wish to marry me despite the damage to your dwarven pride and the inferiority of my race.  And,” he said his voice rising, “to cast the final aspersion, not only do you emphasise the poverty of my kingdom and the wealth of your own – as if you can buy me – but you lay before me a ring that is part of the great treasure of white stones stolen from me and my people centuries ago!  What insult is this?” he cried and he rose from his chair in a fury.

 

Thorin was stunned and the words refused to come.  “I love you and I have come here with an offer of marriage,” was all he could stutter out.

 

“I want you to leave my kingdom forthwith,” snarled Thranduil.  “And when I return to my chambers, I expect you to be gone.”  Then he gathered his robes about him and swept out of the room.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin got back to Erebor late that evening to find Brangwyn waiting for him.  He stumbled to a chair and said in a cracked whisper, “I said it all wrong and he has rejected me.  He never wants to see me again.”

 

Then Brangwyn told him about the two proposals that she herself had received.  “And the one I want doesn’t love me,” she wailed, “whilst the other will take huge offence if I turn him down.”

 

And then they wept on each others’ shoulders at the thought of losing the one whom they held most dear.  Finally, Brangwyn blew her nose and sniffed: “Come on, Thorin.  Let’s get some sleep.  Tomorrow morning, we must formulate a plan before Dain and your heir come knocking at my door and before Thranduil goes looking for comfort in the arms of another.”

 

But sleep refused to come and they tossed and turned all night wondering what they would do once the new day dawned.

 

.o00o.

 

**Thranduil, Dain and Young Thorin need to be confronted.  But, who will speak to them and what will be their response?  One more chapter to go!  Thank you very much for your comments and kudos - I hope you see this story through to its end.**

 


	3. Happily Ever After?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, after all those proposals, Thorin, Thranduil and Brangwyn are feeling pretty miserable. The elven king, Dain and Young Thorin need to be confronted. But, who will speak to them and what will be their response?

.o00o.

 

Chp III

 

Brangwyn and Thorin ate a miserable breakfast together in the king’s rooms.  “Well,” said the dwarf woman at last, “I’ve had to speak to Thranduil on your behalf before, so I suppose I can do it again.  What if you try to sort out my suitors whilst I go off to Mirkwood to speak with your king?”

 

“If only you would,” replied Thorin.  And then he smiled wanly.  “Will you spend your life as my go-between?”

 

“Until you and Thranduil learn the art of communication,” she laughed bleakly, “I think that is a distinct possibility.”

 

An hour later, she had set out for Mirkwood and Thorin was making his way to his adopted son’s apartment.  The prince let him in with a pleased smile on his face for a change.  “I’m glad you’re here,” he grinned, “because I have something important to discuss.”

 

Good, thought Thorin.  This will save me the trouble of bringing up the subject myself.

 

They sat opposite each other across the table and, his eyes shining, Young Thorin explained how he had asked Brangwyn to be his bride whilst, at the same time, apologising for not waiting for Thorin’s return.  “An excellent idea,” responded the king (and the prince looked relieved at his approval).  “But, what was her reply?”

 

His heir’s face fell somewhat.  “She said she would think about it and give me her answer today.”   Then he looked up anxiously.  “You don’t think that she’ll say ‘no’, do you?”

 

Thorin was pleased that the lad seemed so worried about such an eventuality and so he probed further.  “And would that be so awful?” he asked.  “There are other dwarf women who would very much like to be queen of Erebor.  And, after all, her father is only a smith.  Perhaps you could do better for yourself.”

 

“You were a smith in Ered Luin,” snapped the prince.  “Amongst dwarves, it is a noble calling.”  And Thorin, knowing of the exchange that had passed between his heir and Brangwyn, smiled into his beard.  Things were looking good.

 

“And why exactly,” he pursued, “do you want to rush into marriage?  Not so long ago, you told me how you wanted a woman – any woman - and I told you to hammer away your lusts on the anvil.  Is marriage just a way to scratch your itch?”

 

Young Thorin fidgeted a little with embarrassment.  “I’m not saying that I’m not looking forward to having Brangwyn in my bed because I truly desire her – she is a very beautiful woman.  But…” and he looked down and mumbled something that the king couldn’t quite hear.

 

“Speak up!” he demanded.

 

“I think I love her,” muttered the prince, going pink about the ears.  Never before had he been required to think about or discuss his emotions and his response came as a surprise even to himself.

 

“If she rejects me, I don’t know what I shall do,” he said earnestly.

 

“And did you tell her that you loved her?” asked his king.

 

“Er – no,” replied the prince.  “I thought she might think me foolish and I hoped that the prospect of being queen of Erebor would be attraction enough.”

 

Thorin gave a snort of laughter.  “You really don’t understand women, do you?” he said.  “I reckon that, if you had fallen at her feet and told her how you were wasting away for love of her, she would have succumbed at once.”

 

“You think so?” asked the prince wide-eyed.  And he rose hastily from the table.  “I’ll go and tell her right away!”

 

“Sit down,” sighed Thorin.  “I’m afraid that your mishandling of things yesterday has allowed for a rival to get his foot in the door.”

 

“A rival!?” came the appalled response.

 

“Your father has asked her to marry him too.”

 

Young Thorin sat down with a thump, his mouth open in horror.  “No!” he exclaimed.  “Then you must tell him, Thorin, that he can’t marry her because I asked her first.”

 

“I’m afraid that you must tell him yourself,” the king replied.  “Time for you to stand up to him, I think.”

 

“I can’t, I just can’t,” exclaimed the prince.  “He always gets his way.”

 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” laughed Thorin.  “Now, lad, screw up your courage and go and do what you need to do to win the woman you love!”

 

.o00o.

 

Young Thorin knocked purposefully on his father’s door.  “Oh, it’s you,” said Dain as he opened it.  The prince noticed that he was dressed in much finer clothes than usual and guessed, correctly, that he was just off to visit Brangwyn so that he could receive her answer.  “I’m busy,” he added as he let the prince grudgingly into the room.  “I’ve only got a few moments.”

 

“I’ve come to tell you,” said the prince, facing his father squarely, “that yesterday I asked Brangwyn to marry me.”

 

“Wh-a-at?!” growled Dain, advancing on him threateningly.  But the heir of Durin held his ground.  His father grabbed him by the collar and pushed his face into that of his son.  “You will withdraw your offer immediately,” he snarled.  But, Dain was getting old and the prince was young and strong.  For the first time in his life, he physically challenged his father and, seizing him by the wrists, he forced his hands away.

 

The prince held his head up and said: “I am Thorin, the Heir of Durin, and Brangwyn will be my queen.  When I come into my own, then the lord of the Iron Hills will be my vassal.  I am the adopted son of the King under the Mountain and you can no longer rule my life or tell me what to do.”

 

Dain looked startled and backed away and the prince turned on his heel and walked from the room.

 

“I’m ready to talk with Brangwyn now,” he told Thorin.

 

“She’s in Mirkwood, sorting out something for me,” was the reply.  “Perhaps we should ride out and meet her as she returns.”  And then he sent the prince down to the Treasury to find a ring.  “Something else you failed to understand about women and the conventions of a marriage proposal,” he laughed.  Then, later that day, they set out for Mirkwood, the prince clutching his ring and Thorin desperately hoping that Brangwyn had made as much progress with Thranduil as he had done with his heir.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil sighed languidly as Brangwyn entered his room.  “Do I want to listen to you?” he asked.  “I think not.  Will I be forced to listen to you?  I expect so.  Say your piece and go.”

 

The elven king was in pain.  Thorin’s words the previous day about loving him against his will, the insolence as he had talked about his race and the final insult of the mithril ring had cut him to the quick.  It was time to break with the dwarven king and yet the thought of never seeing him again was a knife in his heart.  He had picked up the ring which Thorin had cast to one side and now it shone, one of the great treasures of the elves, upon his finger.  He twisted it and gazed at its beauty, thinking that it would be the only thing he had left of the one he loved.  And now Brangwyn had come and he was forced to listen to her pleas.  Well, he would listen but he would not succumb.

 

“Dear, oh dear,” she said, her head cocked on one side like a little bird.  “What messes you two get yourselves into.  How many times will I be called upon to sort you out?”

 

Thranduil compressed his lips and didn’t reply.

 

“A new ring?” she asked, nodding at his hand where the great white stone glittered on his finger.  “A gift from your one true love?”

 

Thranduil glared at her.  “Say rather, the return of stolen property,” he snarled.

 

“Ah,” said Brangwyn calmly.  “That must be one of those famous white stones which the dwarves kept after the elves refused them payment for the beautiful settings they created for them.  I must say,” she added, staring at the engraved and incised mithril, “they did a wonderful job.”

 

“It was theft, “insisted Thranduil between his teeth, “and Thorin offered me a great insult when he presented it to me and spoke about the wealth of his own kingdom and the poverty of my own.”

 

“Hmm,” said Brangwyn.  “You can only offer insult if you know it’s an insult in the first place.  How many hundreds of years ago were these gems ‘stolen’?  Long before Thorin was born, I can imagine.  He went down to the Treasury and chose the most exquisite thing he could find there.  He was unaware of its history and simply thought it was a metaphor for the love he felt for you, a love so powerful that he was willing to share the wealth of Erebor with you.”

 

Thranduil remained silent.

 

“One point to Thorin, I believe,” Brangwyn grinned.

 

“He said that his relationship with me offended his dwarven pride,” muttered the king.

 

“And does not this same relationship offend your elven pride?” laughed Brangwyn.  “He was trying to be honest.  How can your love be expected to last if you are not honest with each other?  A second point to Thorin.”

 

Thranduil glowered.  “And he said he loved me against his will - that he had struggled not to love me.”

 

“Another insult?” smiled Brangwyn.  “Yes, he has struggled with his feelings, but so have you.  You have tried to deny your love for him ever since you first saw him in Erebor more than sixty years ago because it is offensive to both your races.  But, is it not a wonderful and a beautiful thing that an elf and a dwarf have loved each other in spite of themselves for such a length of time?  It is a true marvel of Middle-earth.  And,” she said softly, taking him by the hand, “is it not a marvel that, in spite of everything, you still love each other and that Thorin wishes to marry you?”

 

Thranduil covered her hand with his own and then pulled her into an embrace, too full of emotion at first to answer her.  Then: “Is he coming?”

 

“Of course he is,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin, his heir and Brangwyn crossed paths halfway between Erebor and Mirkwood.  “Don’t look so anxious, said the dwarf woman to her king.  “He is waiting for you.”

 

Thorin laughed in relief, then gestured to the prince.  “He has something to say to you,” he grinned.  “And if you just make your way through these trees here, you will find a very romantic glade that Thranduil and I are quite familiar with.  But, you may use it just for today,” he added with a wink.  And then he galloped away.

 

Young Thorin and Brangwyn looked at each other shyly and then they dismounted and wandered together through the trees until they reached the glade with its pool and tinkling foss.  They turned towards each other and the prince drew out a beautiful ring from his pocket.  “I did everything badly yesterday,” he said.  “I was so keen to impress you and force my will upon you, that I even forgot the ring.”  And, taking her hand gently, he whispered: “Will you accept this ring as a token of my love? Because I do love you, Brangwyn, even though I find it very hard to say.”

 

She nodded and he slipped it onto one of her fingers.  And then she offered him a ring of her own.  “An exchange of rings.  I suppose that means we are betrothed,” he said wonderingly, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

 

“And I suppose that also means,” she added, “that we belong to each in every possible way.”

 

But, he kissed her tenderly and said, “Yes, but not yet.  Only when we are ready.”  And they dallied for a while by the side of the pool, kissing and whispering together until the sun began to go down and then they slowly made their way home.

 

.o00o.

 

When Thorin entered the elven king’s apartments, Thranduil was waiting for him.  They faced each other across the room and Thranduil was the first to speak: “Why is it always me,” he asked regretfully, “who causes the pain between us?”

 

“Because you have loved me too much for too long,” answered Thorin quietly.

 

“You know,” murmured the elf wryly, “that is what Legolas said to me not so long ago.  “He claimed I loved you too much and he saw it as a flaw.  Perhaps he was right, but I cannot love you any the less.”

 

“I shall take you as you are, beloved,” replied Thorin with a smile.  “And I would not have you any other way.”

 

Thranduil let out a long sigh of relief and then he held out his hand with the ring upon it.  “I accept your proposal,” he said, “if that is what you still want.”

 

Thorin stepped forward, took the long, white hand in his and kissed it.  “Yes, that is what I still want,” he assured him.  But then he raised his head and brushed his lips over those of the elf and a devilish smile lifted the corner of his mouth.  “But, that isn’t all I want,” he whispered.  And he led Thranduil to his bed where they stripped each other of their robes. 

 

Then Thorin lowered the elf upon the bed and, kneeling between his lover’s long, alabaster thighs, he bent forward, hands either side of his head, to snuff the warm perfume of his skin.

 

“You always smell of grass and rain and trees,” he murmured.

 

“And, you of hot metal and smoky fires,” was the laughing response.

 

Thorin was quite startled.  “Is that distasteful to you?” he asked in dismay.

 

“What do you think?” was the amused reply as the elven king grasped his braids and stopped the dwarf’s mouth with his own.  Thorin could feel his lover’s hardening length begin to jerk and thrust urgently against his belly whilst his own became unbearably swollen.

 

He groaned and felt beneath the pillow for the phial that he knew Thranduil always kept there.  “Let me,” said the elf.  And, as he helped Thorin to apply the oil, the dwarf moaned and hardened still further as those clever hands stroked him.  Then, Thranduil lifted his legs and wrapped them around Thorin’s waist and the dwarven king pressed into him with a satisfied grunt.

 

The elf reached up to cup his face and watched him as he thrust repeatedly.  “What are you looking at?” asked Thorin breathlessly, not letting his lover interrupt his rhythm.

 

“I am looking at the face of my betrothed – and wondering at his beauty,” said Thranduil and his own face finally contorted in an ecstatic spasm.

 

His words caused Thorin to cry out and collapse upon the elf’s breast.  “And what of the beauty of _my_ betrothed,” he laughed sleepily.  And Thranduil gathered him tenderly into his arms.

 

As Thorin lay quietly sleeping, pressed against his lover's body, Thranduil gently touched him – his luxuriant hair, his massive shoulders, his back, the curve of his behind. 

 

Yes, you’re my obsession, he thought, and I don’t think that you will ever be anything else.

 

He stared at the ring on his finger for a while, and then, suddenly afraid of what the future might bring, he pulled the dwarf more tightly against his smooth chest until he also fell into a deep sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

**Aww!  And so they all plan for a double wedding but, in the meantime, a number of things happen which might put a spoke in the works.**

**New story: _The Kings, the Prince and the Sex Problem_ , in which our two kings discover that Dain’s son has yet to take Brangwyn to his bed, even though this is expected after a betrothal.  What's his problem and can Thorin and Thranduil play agony aunts and resolve it for him?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure that many of you recognised the proposal scene from Pride and Prejudice but I wonder if any of you also recognised a similar proposal scene from Mrs Gaskell's North and South (the one set in England not the States)? By coincidence, our Thorin actor, Richard Armitage, appears in the splendid BBC production of this novel, giving us a wonderful performance as the brooding hero. You can catch the whole thing on YT or see clips of the proposal scene. It's also available on Amazon and is one of the best period productions out there.


End file.
